" "He must," exclaimed Jack, hastily; "but only let me have it till to-morrow, and if I don't entrap him in a snare from which, with all his cunning, he shall find it difficult to escape, my name's not Jack Sheppard. Wood—and after him came his daughter. Too easily roused emotions and too little passion. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. ‘Point it at me. Sometimes I think you would have been much better off if you had been born in death-worshipping Egypt instead of in the Fourteenth Century. "But I agree with Hogarth, that he is precisely the person to do what he has done. This way, Sir Rowland. ’ ‘So I infer.
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